In Defense of Magic
by Tine An
Summary: AU/FTL/SQ. Emma is 28 years old; the Kingdom is in its 3rd summer of drought, another war is looming, Rumplestiltskin is at large, a series of unfortunate events have raised concerns that the banished Queen has returned, and a young boy has turned up claiming to be Emma's son. It seemed impossible that anything further could compound these problems, but as Emma sets out to...
1. Prologue

**Summary: **AU/FTL/SQ. Emma is 28 years old; the Kingdom is in its 3rd summer of drought, another war is looming, Rumplestiltskin is at large, a series of unfortunate events have raised concerns that the banished Queen has returned, and a young boy has turned up claiming to be her son. It seemed impossible that anything further could compound these problems, but as Emma sets out to solve at least one of these problems she begins realise just how very wrong she might be.

**Prologue**

_About eighteen years ago_

Rays of early morning sunshine had woken Hector early, that morning; shining through the high arched window, glinting off the little panes of glass, catching the cut crystal hanging from the light fixtures hanging high above him, and dancing playfully across his eyelids. It was the summer of Hector's eighth year and, in quite the most exciting thing that had happened to him in some time, his family had removed to the Summer Palace.

The palace, said Hector's mother, was where she, herself, had been raised. It was there that she held some of her happiest memories. Mother spoke of the fun to be had climbing trees in the orchards, the size and magnificence of the stable block filled with horses, the big feasts, filled with gaiety, held in the Great Hall, and the birds that nested in the parapets who sang well beyond dawn. Life at home, in the Castle, surrounded as it was by a lake, led to more restricted encounters with nature.

It was no surprise, therefore, that as the sun's rays shone brightly upon his cheeks that Hector found himself stirring, and, within a few more moments, a keen sense of anticipation stole upon him as his eyes cracked open. Today was the day he could begin his explorations. Hector's father, the King, had ridden ahead a week before his families scheduled arrival to oversee the final preparations of the Summer Palace's restoration. It had, for many years, served as the residence of the Evil Queen during the Dark Times and, subsequently, stood empty for more than a decade. Hector's mother had declared over dinner last summer that they could not leave the Palace to fall into disrepair as a monument to tyranny any longer, and so renovations had begun. It was, in its position in one of the more arable parts of the United Enchanted Forest, to serve as the summer residence of the Royal Family. Hector felt it was high-time he became well acquainted with his surroundings if he was to spend every summer here.

The sound of a well winch being worked somewhere outside indicated some of the servants were out and about, but little else could be heard but for the shrill call of a bird in the distance. It was, Hector judged, still very early. So, sliding out of bed he shrugged off his nightshirt and into the serviceable outfit laid out by the nursemaid the night before. Hector wrinkled his nose as he pulled a white shirt over his head. It was made of that scratchy fabric his mother insisted a few of his shirts be made from.

"It starches so well, and you look absolutely charming, darling." Snow White had declared.

This shirt was new. Hector had preferred several of his old ones that he had worn so often they felt like a second skin. They were soft and didn't scratch. Sarah, his nursemaid, refused to bring them to the Summer Palace despite his very specific request. She had informed her charge that if he insisted on getting into such scrapes and so much dirt then it was only to be expected. Hector begged to differ. His scrapes and propensity to become covered in dirt were exactly why he should be allowed to roam about in his perfectly comfortable old clothes.

Sliding on his boot, without bothering to muster a pair of knee-stockings, Hector scampered out through the heavy wooden door, mercifully left ajar, and into what had been recently named the nursery. It was on the third floor of the Palaces large west wing. There were rooms for nursemaids, handmaids, tutors, and schoolrooms arranged along corridors off it. Next to Hector's well lit room were the rooms for his siblings, or children of guests.

Darting along the empty hall to the door next to his, he hefted the great latch of the neighbouring room. The door gave a creak as it released and eased forward in its hinges. Hector poked his head around and saw his eldest sister still fast asleep. Her blonde head peeped out from under the mess of blankets, one pillow lay on the floor some distance from the bed.

He tip-toed in. "Pst. Emma." Hector whispered. The girl in the bed failed to stir.

Hector sighed. This was a new behaviour. Emma used to be up just as early as Hector, but ever since last winter she had been sleeping longer. It was most incovenient; a new morning of adventure and Emma slept right through it! Taking action he gave himself a bit of a run up and, with several quick paces, leapt onto the end of the bed, giving a bounce as he landed.

"Emma! Emma, wake up!"

A hand snuck up and twitched the cover with a groan, a pair of bleary green eyes peaked out at him.

Seeing this was the totality of her response, he gave another bounce. "Come on!"

His sister grumbled, unintelligibly.

Hector clambered forward, jiggling the bed as he went, "Come on, Emma! We need to get a look around before every body wakes up!

Emma, although still half asleep, clearly saw the genius in this idea for she slowly lifted both hands to scrub at her eyes.

"Alrigh'," she yawned.

A grin spread across Hector's face. Excellent, he thought. "Get dressed!" He encouraged.

Minutes later, it soon became too clear to the children, as the scampered through the newly restored palace that it would take more than one morning to explore; they had already spent ages in some sort of makeshift armoury. They eventually saw lavishly decorated rooms with high vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows, dimly lit rooms used as antechambers by the servants (one had been full of interesting looking vials), long never ending corridors, tall turrets with so many stairs their little legs could barely support them by the time they climbed to the top, small cupboards used for utilities, and a large room used for storage of disused furniture, sculpture and art work. To the two children all of it was exciting, although it would blur in their memories in years to come. However, there was one moment amongst the many of that first morning that would remain in the siblings memory's their entire lives.

Ducking nimbly under the last remnants of some interior scaffolding in the East Wing, they to wander what was to be the final piece of restoration. These rooms looked dusty, some of the plasterwork was cracked. They had largely been filled with negligible objects from other rooms within the palace, their shapes hidden under great swathes of white linen. The windows in these rooms were shrouded, letting in very little of the light that might face belongings. Lifting cloth to squint through the gloom at the content underneath that proved, on the whole, to be terribly boring. Who cared about a bunch of old chairs?

It was building up to rather disappointing when Hector tripped over the plinth upon which a suit of amour he had been fascinated by stood. As he fell he tried to stop himself, and grabbed the nearest thing to had — the covering hanging from the walls hiding the paintings beneath, and took it with him to the ground in a rush of dust and cobwebs. He coughed, spluttering as he fought his way out from under the heavy fabric.

He scowled at Emma, who had laughed, then squinted at the framed works revealed upon the walls.

He recognised a face. "Emma, is that ma?"

In it stood three people, a small dark haired girl, younger than Emma and sharing her chin, a tall distinguished looking man, and a dark haired, clear eyed woman. Underneath it sat a plaque — The Royal Family in the 20th year of his reign, His Majesty King Leopold II.

Emma nodded. "Yes, that's Grandfather and, I suppose, that must be Grandmother."

Leopold eyed the painting again. His mother wore a white puffy sort of thing with, he thought, feathers. He did not fancy the clothing. "Isn't Ma's dress gross?"

Emma's eyes focussed on their mother, nodding, again. "Grandmother was very pretty, though," she observed.

The next painting along was Leopold II on his own, a hand on the hold of his sword, and another arrogantly perched on his hip. He looked, Hector thought, a commanding sight. It was hard to imagine that he'd been struck down by a viper in his sleep. Following, was a second of Snow White and her mother. A small white dog sat at their feet, then a group portrait of some courtiers.

Hector huffed. They had a few of these sorts of boring paintings at the Castle. "Are there any of the Evil Queen, do you think? She was Ma's step mother."

His sister shrugged. "Perhaps they've been taken away?"

"Or burned," Hector suggested, delighting in his tone ominous. He pulled another cloth down; another of their mother and grandmother.

"She sat for an awful lot of paintings," observed Emma, wrinkling her nose. Hector commiserated. He had sat for two paintings in his life and hated it. He found it very difficult to stay still for such long periods of time, and so dull.

It was the sixth length of covers that revealed the Evil Queen to her step-grandchildren. Seated on a chair in regal blue robes, her husband behind and to the side with a hand on her shoulder, sat a dark haired beauty with eyes darker than Hector had every seen, even on a few traders from the South. The Queen didn't look happy, exactly, but then no one ever did after sitting for so long.

"Oh," Hector said flatly. He was disappointed. "Everyone always says she wore black."

"Yes."

Hector frowned. He supposed the Evil Queen did look different. In the forest blue eyes were more common than brown, and people were quite pale from a life beneath the canopies. Having brown eyes wasn't a trait only for witches, though. Not that Hector knew exactly how it was a witch should look. Once, he had watched of father's knights bring in a woman on horse back. She had been quite young, not at all an old crone, with red hair, freckles, and one of those brown cloaks many of the villagers wore. Hector remembered her quite vividly, her posture was slumped and she'd kept her head bowed. She'd looked up for a moment or two, her eyes had looked hollow, with great bags of tiredness underneath, but despite this she had looked very ordinary. The very next day she was sentenced to hang, although Hector did not know what for, at the time. He was not allowed to watch death sentences, but he had heard the mob yelling, as the are wont. Cries of "Kill the Witch!" had echoed widely.

"I wonder what it was like… to see a real witch," He said," I know they hung that old woman in the Castle last month, but I heard Thomas Grey tell Marcus, that she wasn't even a real one! He says a real witch can survive a hanging!"

"Marcus?" He sister asked, her eyes still gazing at the painting.

"Yes, the blacksmith's son."

His sister nodded. Emma, he remembered, had snuck up into one of the guard's towers to watch the redhead hang. She had told him about it afterwards. Apparently, she hadn't seen much — the witch's face had been covered.

"I suppose," Emma replied. "Witches can look like anybody else."

Hector nodded, accepting Emma's observation. "The Blue Fairy told me they steal magic, I suppose they are like thieves. You've got to blend in to be a truly successful thief."

Emma brows drew together.

"But," Hector continued, "some people steal when they are in need, like that mother from the village, last week, who needed to feed all her children. Pa says that witches only want to steal power, and that means there is no such thing as a good witch."

He paused to pull down another cloth. Horses. Lots of horses.

Hector continued, "Thomas says that witches can raze whole villages with fire from their hands. Just one witch!" He thrust his hand out in front of him at the growing pile of cloth.

"How would Thomas know?" Emma asked, skeptically.

How would…? Thomas was in the best position to know! "His father used to be apprenticed to the smith who smelted for the Evil Queen's guard!"

His sister blinked. "Really? But how does he…"

Hector cut her off, "Well, he worked for that smith after the Queen was banished. His boss said that she could throw great big fireballs. They would appear in her hands and she'd throw them." He mimed the action again. "Wham! Fire!"

Emma laughed, "We could do that with a catapult."

"But not indoors, or to set a fireplace alight! Besides, you'd have to transport the catapult." Hector skipped about throwing an imaginary fireball at Emma. She failed to duck.

"Ha!" He declared, "Emma, you are on fire!"

She narrowed her eyes, "On fire? I am going to get you, little brother!" She lifted her skirts with one hand to give chase and raised her other as though holding ball in front of her. Hector gave a giggle and darted backwards toward the end of the room.

"I can aim my imaginary fireballs with just as much accuracy as you!" Taking a step forward Emma lifted her arm, prepared to take aim and then… Hector heard only silence.

He glanced back and froze. There, flickering at eye level in his sisters palm, was a small egg sized orange ball. He stared, he felt his heart rate accelerating, he could hear it beating his ears.

"By the Faeries…" He gasped. He looked up at Emma's face. She stood, eyes locked on her own palm, skin alarming pale. He stepped forward, then halted. Perhaps it would be best to stay out of range.

"Emma?" He whispered.

Emma tore her eyes away from her own hand and looked up. The green eyes that met his held an expression he hadn't seen before, fear. His big sisters was afraid.

"How…?" His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. "What are we going to do?" He hoped she would know what to do.

He watched as the glowing ball seemed to dull momentarily before disappearing completely. Emma licked her lips, lowering her hand stiffly, rubbing it against her skirts as though to wipe it clean.

"Do about what?"

Hector frowned. Well, that wasn't much of a plan, but he felt his head nodding slowly, and mentally crossed all his digits for luck. Emma would need it.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Rumplestiltskin**

Silence accompanied the pitch black of night, lying like a blanket over the castle. It was broken only by the sound of a horse whinnying in the distance, the laugh of the last drunkard stumbling home, and the rushed breaths of those fortunate enough to end a night of celebration with company. In a room, not remarkably different from those surrounding it, its stone walls decorated with a variety of landscapes and heavy oak furniture, a large bed stood in pride of place. Upon it a blonde, the skirts of her gown spilling around her, gasped as, straddling the muscular thighs and narrow hips beneath her, she lowered herself on to the evidence of her companion's arousal. The man beneath, shed of everything but his loosened shirt, licked his lips looking down to where their bodies met, feeling himself slowly engulfed by warmth. The blonde gave a roll of her hips.

"Princess," he groaned, as she repeated the motion, placing his hands firmly on her hips.

Eyelids lifted, heavy eyelashes casting a shadow of darkness upon her cheeks, and a pair of half hidden green eyes glinted down at him, "Sh."

He remained quiet and, pulling down, thrust his hips upwards. The woman's head fell back with the movement, her breath hitched, and her breasts strained at the restrictive corsetry of the dress they hard barely found time to unlace. She felt the buzz of alcohol in her veins, the roughness of his grip on her hips, the heady sensation as the moved together. She needed to do this more often. For minutes there was nothing but the sound of increasingly rushed and shallow breathing, the creak of the bed, and the occasional crack from embers in a dying fire place. Their bodies slicked, heart rates rose, and soon she began to tense as she reached the cusp of climax. She reached a hand down between their bodies to bring herself over the edge.

A loud bang reverberated through the room. Their movements halted, eyes making contact.

"Emma?" Called a female voice.

The blonde's eyes widened. "Yes?" She called back tentatively, her voice huskier than usual.

There was a rattle of a metal door handle. "Emma, you must come at once! Why is this door locked?"

Emma's companion frowned up at her. "It's well after midnight." He whispered hoarsely.

"What? Now?"

There was a frustrated huff. "Yes! Obviously. The council chamber! Ma has summoned us!"

Two bodies sagged in disappointment. "I'll be there in a minute!"

"Fine." There was silence. Emma gritted her teeth.

"I'll meet you there!" She said pointedly.

"Fine." This time footsteps could be heard moving away from the door. The couple looked at each other.

The man pushed his hips up a fraction, still deeply inside the blonde. Emma sighed as she moved against him again before glaring down at him.

Pointing at his chest she said, firmly, "You stay here. Don't move an inch. I'll be back as quickly as I can."

He grinned crookedly, flashing straight teeth. "I eagerly await, but you may be some time."

Emma let out an intelligible grumble as she clambered inelegantly off him, looking somewhat mournfully at his body as she did so. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

She fluffed her skirts, made of the stiff heavy fabric common for formal occasions, trying to hide as many of the newly created creases as possible. Squinting into a mirror hanging across the room and running her fingers through her hair. It was hanging curlier than it might usually, having been up, until about half an hour ago, in the kind of hairstyle that required more clips than comfort truly allowed. Thank goodness, she hadn't been the one on her back.

Hurriedly pulling on a discarded pair of heeled shoes she glanced back at the bed. "Will I do?"

He looked her up and down, his gaze still lust filled. "Say you fell asleep dressed."

"Right." With a final aggrieved clench of her jaw she stepped towards the door, threw the bolt, and stepped out into the corridor.

Torches flickered, lighting her path and the usual sounds one heard when moving along them throughout the day were gone. But as Emma turned into a corridor in which red carpets stood out starkly against the cold grey stone of the walls, and headed to the stairwell she heard the movement of people. Voices floated towards her., She couldn't make out what they were saying, though they sounded tense. She quickened her pace. She could make out her father's voice, a low rumble, and the higher pitch of Jiminy. This had really better be worth it, she thought. She had been so close.

Pausing, fleetingly, before crossing the threshold she took a deep breath. Calm, she thought, always calm, steeling herself. She stepped in. The occupants of the room were not, she noted, the entire council. Instead her sisters, parents, and three of the major land owners sat at the table. A few of their more trusted advisors — the Cricket, Red, the old Huntsman, and the Blue Fairy stood nearby, the Captain of the Guard and the newly appointed Field Marshal of the Kingdom's increasing standing army — had taken seats on the far side of the room. No once noticed her.

Her mother was seated in her usual seat at the head of the table, still garbed in the gown she'd worn earlier in the evening, nodding as her husband spoke.

"We must dispatch search parties at once! He is a danger to this Kingdom and many others. We must apprehend him immediately."

The cricket, perched on the table, stuttered a little. "Y-yes, your highness, but he may no longer be in the Kingdom, he doesn't need to travel by normal means."

Emma watched as her mother perceivably shuddered before resolutely stating, "He must not be allowed to resume his practices within this Kingdom or any other!"

"Ideally not," agreed the Cricket. "However, one usually needs magic to entrap him and even then chances are low. I mean, Cinderella was very lucky with that squid ink."

"He's been in that cell for over twenty-eight years he is, surely, weakened." Argued the King. "Our knights will be able to find him"

Emma cleared her throat to announce her presence. Several pairs of eyes turned to meet hers.

"What," she asked, "is going on?"

"Emma!" Her mother, Snow White, stood. "I'm so sorry we got you back out of bed. This is a horrible way to end your birthday but it's important. Please, sit down."

Emma shrugged and drew the chair nearest the door. "Go on." She sat, feeling the stiffness of her skirts as the begrudged the position.

Snow White opened her mouth to continue but, in a voice filled with entirely too much relish, a young woman exclaimed, "The Dark One has escaped!"

"Hush, Eva!" Emma glanced at her sisters. Eva, as dark as Emma was fair, and uncannily like her mother in appearance, sat glaring at the brunette to her left. Isabel, the youngest, a blue robe tied firmly around her nightwear, glared balefully back. This was standard behaviour. Although Emma usually did her best to avoid participating it was, she knew, very easy to become fractious with one's sisters.

She looked back at her mother. "The Dark One?" Emma found beginning with open questions usually yielded the most information.

"Yes. You see we…"

Snow was cut off again. "Apparently, we've been holding him captive in the dungeon for years! To think, we never knew we've been in danger in our own home our whole lives!" Eva continued.

"Eva…" Her father glowered. "Let you mothe…"

Undeterred the raven haired your woman persevered. "And now? He's just left! He could be anywhere in the Kingdom raping, murdering, pillaging! Or lurking about the castle waiting to take his revenge while we all sleep!"

"Eva, shut up."

"Language, Isabel!" Snow managed interjected.

"Talk about laissez-faire parenting! 'Children, don't go into the dungeon.' Well, naturally we did! We could've been killed!"

The Field Marshal made eye contact with Emma before looking away, very quickly, to stare at some indeterminate point on the wall across from him. Emma grimaced.

The Blue Fairy ruffled her wings before beginning, "You were perfectly sa…"

"Safe? Safe! From the immortal imp whose every breath probably has a secondary nefarious purpose beyond keeping him alive? Well, this evening shows that we are clearly not safe!"

Isabel rolled her eyes collectively at the tables. "By the faeries, you are such a drama-queen."

Eva emitted an exasperated huff. "I'll be lucky to be any sort of queen! At this rate, Engres' parents will probably end the betrothal because my parents are the numbskulls who endangered all of the Lands through their inept jail keeping!"

Emma leaned back in her chair, slouching —the kind of position her governess would've once told her to snap out of. She needed to be comfortable, this had all the makings of a long discussion. Emma's youngest sister, Isabel, was correct; Eva was prone to a little flamboyant drama. The Widow Lucas always said a little attention seeking was normal in the middle child, although Emma wondered if you could be considered the middle child when your mother had born an even four children.

Emma did see Eva's point, though. Keeping the Dark One so close seemed very risky. She supposed the proverbial they did say that one should keep one's friends close and one's enemies closer, but she doubted that had ever been said with Rumplestiltskin in mind. Besides, if her parents espoused that logic then they probably had the old Queen locked in their nearest armoire, which was, emphatically, unlikely. Why keep the Dark One so close? It made more sense to Emma to have organised a very timely demise for him as soon as one could after capture.

"Engres loves you, although god-knows why, he'd probably elope with you. You could live in a little cottage in the woods and have hundreds of little horrors. Think of the varicose veins you'll have!"

Snow stood, glaring at her two youngers. "Isabel, would you stop wi…"

"…And the bare feet. No shoes. Imagine." She continued gleefully.

Eva glared. "Engres would not give up his Kingd…"

"There is nothing wrong with living humbly." Emma's father attempted to enter the fray again.

"…dom. He is a noble soul and cares for his people."

Isabel snorted. "Cares for his horses, more like. Maybe that's why he likes you? I've always thought there was some a little equine about your…"

"Girls!" Snow White brought her hand down firmly on the table. "Will you be quiet! This is a serious situation!"

Blessedly, they remained silent. Snow paused, staring at them, daring them to continue. They didn't.

Snow resumed her seat. "Right, Emma… before you were born it was felt best that Rumplestiltkin, in his imprisonment, after Cinderella's involvement, should be moved to the dwarves' mines. He could be kept as securely as possible there, or as securely as anyone might ever keep the Dark One. We enlisted the help of the faeries, you see."

Emma nodded. She supposed that made sense.

"When the dwarves had to move to the new mines to find new dust we thought it better to move Rumplestiltskin to the deepest part of the dungeon rather than further up the mountains. With Blue's helped we managed to create as similar an environment as possible to the mines. It seems, though, that even our best efforts cannot keep him restrained forever. The night watch did their rounds, as usual. He was discovered missing about half an hour ago. His cell was not broken out of by any conventional method."

"Okay." Emma paused, trying to think of a nice turn of phrase. "Would it not have been better to just…. kill him?" Not a nice turn of phrase.

Snow looked toward the Blue Fairy, who straightened before she spoke. "No one knows how to kill the Dark One, or if anyone does they are keeping it a very close secret."

"We're thinking we can, at least, try and imprison him again. We should start looking." Her father asserted.

Emma frowned. "Jiminy said there was some… squid ink?…" The Cricket nodded,"… involved last time? Surely the same trick cannot be replicated twice?"

King James sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Rumple is no fool, it is true, but we cannot stand idle."

"Blue, is there nothing you can think of that we might do?" Snow looked beseechingly at the fairy.

The fairy pursed her lips. "I'm afraid it would take some time, and research. Even then my efforts may yield no fruits."

"At the very least," James said firmly, "we must ascertain his whereabouts. In the event we can imprison him we ought to have him easily located."

A rotund, silver haired, individual coughed, pointedly. "I've always been under the impression," he lisped, " that the Dark One comes to you, not the other way round."

"Not all the time, Baron" James said, confidently.

"Perhaps, on those occasions he allows one to come to him."

James sighed, frustrated.

The baron shrugged and reached for a cup that sat before him on the table. Baron Crabtree, Emma noted, was, in her opinion, the most deceptively benign of her parents councillors. Often a drink or two past what might be considered reasonable, a misplaced sense of fashion and his, possibly affected, lisp made him a rather incredible character. His position on the council had been acquired several years ago upon the demise of his brother, the previous baron, who had held the position. Although not hereditary no one could conceive of any convincing objection to the new baron's presence. Consequently, he said what he thought he needed to be said and made not effort one way or the other to ensure that it was listened to, often just topping up his goblet. Emma thought him shrewd.

"How many men have we to spare?" Snow enquired of the Field Marshal.

He cleared his throat, a finger coming up to rub his slightly beaky nose,"Not many, your highness. Those not deployed on assignment already are based here or the outcamp by the Shotover River for training. A small group is on leave."

"Could we recall some of those on assignment? What about the Huntsmen?"

The Field Marshall blinked,"You wish to recall the Huntsmen from looking for the Lady Andrea?"

Snow paused,"No. No, I would prefer not. What about that group we sent Northward? Could we send word to redeploy along the border?"

"They have not been heard from in some time, your highness. We have been having trouble getting ravens to them. It may be that they detoured and have had success, if we're lucky."

"Success? In the North?"

"We can hope, ma'am."

Snow nodded. "All the others are on more likely missions though, are they not?"

"Yes, I wouldn't want to call any to a halt. There is the two groups I have patrolling the rural farms. Cattle rustling is at its height."

Again Snow nodded. "Red, Graham, do you think you could arrange for Rumplestiltskin to be…sniffed out?"

The Huntsman shifted awkwardly. "He is probably not on foot, or even horseback, my lady."

Red nodded in agreement, "A trail cannot be smelled were there is not one."

"It seems," Emma spoke, "that there isn't anything we can do until he shows himself, and although that may be on his own terms it is lest costly to us."

She watched her mother's lips thin, "No. I shan't have the Dark One just anywhere in my Kingdom! Those are innocent people out there!"

James, pacing behind his wife, paused to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We will think of something." He paused for a moment, "How about I take a few of our best guards? We'll pick up a few of our better trainees, ride to the outcamp, select a few more — your man there will now who is best, won't he Field Marshall? — and then conduct a few enquiries? At the least we'll be able to ascertain if anyone has seen him and if he is still in the Kingdom."

"What? Charming! You're too…" Snow cut herself off. Emma bit her lip.

"…Old." Finished Eva, smugly.

"It's just asking a few questions!" The King expostulated. "Old? Minutes ago you were asking a fifty year old wolf to go hunting!"

"Forty eight."

"What?!"

Ruby narrowed her eyes at her King, "I'm forty-eight."

"Charming, it might not just be questions. Anything could happen when he is involved!"

"That's why I'm suggesting I take guards!"

"Guards and trainees! One lot are old and out of practice, the others are inexperienced! You wouldn't stand a chance."

"I killed a dragon with my inexperience, we would be more than enough."

Emma's father, the eternal optimist, folded his arms defensively. Emma shook her head, disbelievingly. Glancing around the table she caught the Baron's eye, his face was flushed, and he blinked almost gormlessly.

"You're not a young man anymore, Charming," his wife reasserted.

"No, but there isn't a young man to fill this role and it is a role that must be filled!"

"Well, there would be if you hadn't sent him to…!" Snow caught herself.

There was a silence in the room.

Emma took a moment, swallowed, and spoke. "Perhaps, we might all take a vote on possible options. There are four: we do nothing and wait for Rumplestiltskin to play his first card or, possibly, not, or we recall one or two of the groups currently guarding the water caravans, or we send Pa and those who might be mustered to 'ask questions' or possibly more, or we switch Pa and his men with those currently aiding against cattle rustlings and said those men to look for Rumplestiltskin."

She looked around the room. She had everyone's attention.

"All those in favour of option number one?"

It was the fourth option that won out by as sizeable majority, only the King voting that he himself hunt Rumplestiltkin. Emma suspected the overpowering logic was that the crown must be seen to do something even if, really, there was very little they could do, but morale was important in the current political climate. The threat of the Dark One would not help. Emma wondered how much of a threat he was. Mostly people would hold a grudge against their captors, especially after twenty-eight or more years of captivity, but had it really taken twenty-eight years to escape?

Once it was determined that the King and some others would leave to commission the cattle rustling troops in the morning, everyone stood and meandered, with some relief, out the door.

"Do you think Engres could kill a dragon, Eva? I bet he couldn't. Both Pa and Hector killed a dragon. Do you feel you're marrying down?" Taunted Isabel as she passed her sister.

"You're just jealous that you're not engaged," retorted the victim.

Isabel snorted, looking towards Emma, "Of you? Engres is ridiculous, all that posturing… I'm right, aren't I, Emma?"

"Don't draw me into your bickering."

"See! Emma likes him."

"She did not say that."

Emma blew out her cheeks as she exited. Tiresome.

She turned left down the corridor, away from the direction she had come from. How, exactly, did one escape a Dark-One-proof cell?

"Emma?" Her mothers voice. "Aren't you going back to bed?"

"I just want to see his cell."

"There's really no need."

"I'm curious."

"Well… if you insist." Snow paused, her brows furrowing, "Where's your guard? You should at least take him with you down there."

Emma shrugged. "I'd asked him to get more coal for my fire when Eva fetched me, I was cold."

"Oh. Well, let me come with you."

"Okay."

Emma started down the corridor, her mother falling into step beside her.

"You had a nice time tonight, I hope."

Emma nodded. "It was a lovely party, thank you."

Snow narrowed her eyes at her daughter sensing something was off, "But…?"

"You know, already. I just feel funny about having a party in my honour in the middle of… well…" Emma made a sweeping gesture with her hand,"… everything."

Snow nodded. "I understand, but it is fine. The people need to have something to celebrate to distract them from their troubles."

"I'm just not sure that thing should be my birthday."

Her mother smiled at her indulgently, "Your birthday will always be special, Emma, you were the miracle baby and a ray of hope after such a period of darkness."

Emma raised a hand and scratched the back of her neck, sheepishly. It made her uncomfortable when people spoke like that. She stayed silent for the remainder of their walk.

The dungeons were, as ever, dark, dank, smelled rancid, and the shadows moved in ways that made Emma hope for rats. Her mother lead her, undeterred, through the caverns, narrowing, the ceiling lowering, as they went further underground. The ground became wetter as the trod. The cell, when they reached it, looked like it once may have been no different to any other cell. It had a barred entrance, stone walls, a bucket stood in one corner and there was some old, sodden straw for bedding. What was unusual was the state of the bars; they looked like the had dissolved away, the jagged melted ends of metal sticking out from the top of cell arch.

"What did the fairies do to help?" Emma asked, stepping closer to look at the state of the metal. Was there an acid strong enough to do this?

"With the cell? I never understood the intricacies of it all, but they did something with their dust to make the cell impenetrable to those with malicious intentions."

"What? So if he had good intentions he could just walk out?"

"I think it was no one could let him out. There was also something to repress his magic, as much as they could. It seemed to work. He would've needed a key."

"Yea, well, he clearly didn't use one." Half the lock was melted away, but it wasn't the main point of tampering. Emma stepped in the cell and looked up, "No ventilation shaft?"

"No. We thought that too risky. Besides, I don't know how we would've put one in so far below ground. I think we're under the usual water level for the lake."

"Explains the damp floor." Emma ran her hands along the brickwork, testing for loose stones. Some of the stones, she saw, bore scratches, as though someone had using something to try and carve into them.

She squinted. "Was he the first to use this cell? There's writing here." She ran her fingers over it, feeling the engravings, " I can't make it out, but it seems a bit like…." She paused.

Emma knew exactly what it seemed like, and it chilled her blood. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back.

"Emma? Are you alright?" Snow looked concerned.

Breathing out, Emma nodded. "I'm fine. I think it's just a tally, you know… of days, or weeks, actually months makes more sense."

"Shall we go?"

"Yes."

* * *

It was with an altered mood that Emma returned to her chamber for the second time that night. She paused, momentarily, with her hand on the latch before entering. Perhaps the man in her bed would still be awake and willing to distract her from her thoughts. She pushed to door in. There was no light in the room; the embers in the hearth having long since died, and the thick curtains barring any moonlight from entering. Emma fumbled her way in, kicking off her shoes as she did so. Blindly she wandered across the room, stooped, arms out, feeling for the bed. About two steps before she estimated she should have made contact with the post of the bed closest to the door her hands grabbed at something. It felt rough and leathery. She moved her hand up. Was that a….?

"Well, hello, dearie." The room was suddenly awash with the glowing light emitted from a small ball of flame.

Emma stumbled backward. "Fuck!"

The man, if indeed he could be called such — his skin seemed to shine in the flickering light he held — tutted, "Such language! How unbecoming, Princess." He giggled.

Fuck. Emma glanced at the bed, its occupant appeared to be fast asleep.

"Oh, don't worry. He'll wake up in the morning. Although, I must say, I am very surprised! Not waiting until marriage."

"Who are you?" Emma hissed, fumbling behind her for something solid, and preferably sharp. Her hand fell on a silver candelabra.

"You know who I am. Just as I know who you are."

"Everyone knows who I am." She stated.

"Ah, you see. We have something in common."

Emma snorted, bravely. "As if."

"I wonder," he continued, "What else we have in common?"

Emma gripped the piece of silver tightly and, stepping forward suddenly, swung at the intruder. He didn't so much step back as suddenly appear a few steps further make from her than he was previously. Her attack passed through thin air.

He waggled a finger. "Uh-uh, dearie. Play nicely. I've only come to chat."

She clenched her teeth, eying him warily. "About what?"

"Tell me…. Emma… have you ever… travelled?"

Emma gulped.

Fuck.


End file.
